What shows
how little
we know?
What can be is
oft far less than
what we expect.
What is now
has never been
what it was.
07/25/2024 j.g.l.
value beyond
Simplicity.
Is there emotion in austerity?
Humanity?
What do you see when attempting
to define your limited visibility?
Minimalism, abstract impressionism
or incorporeal thought.
Less is more, but is it enough?
Texture, tone, and value beyond
your current scene. If you take it to an
extreme, you will question
what it means.
What is really there?
What line do you cross?
Can simplicity be complicated, or
should it even be attempted?
07/23/2024 j.g.l.
Mondays are just young Fridays
Things will not go as planned. Intentions will be disrupted, even overlooked, in the aftermath of an unexpected reality.
Where you are headed will not be the place you end up, undoubtedly or undeniably. No matter how hard you attempt to make each gesture, brushstroke, promise, prayer, or pastime as perfect as you believe it can be, many times you will not arrive at a perceived destination. All too often your endeavors never hit the mark; at times your work may be better than expected (celebrate those moments), but everything (even your judgement) is subjective.
You are not limited to, or by, the colours in your paintbox or progression of your process.
Imagination is as limited or expansive as you want it to be. Give it time to blossom; in certain instances, you may even have to reel it in. This is all about possibilities, no matter which media, method, or style you are beholden to.
You owe your art (or life) nothing but your presence; the value comes from the practice, as rudimentary or spontaneous as it is or will become.
07/22/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
3:37 A.M.
Posted on June 10, 2017 by j.g.lewis
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3:37 a.m.
I wake.
I wake often at 3:37. Desires inspired
in Illuminated darkness
and hunger.
I want ice cream
with you.
Half asleep,
wholly consumed, vacant dreams,
your voice shows through.
Unusually delusional.
Familiar image,
tussled hair,
threadbare kimono
and comfort.
Quiet.
Front stoop shadow at 3:56. I show up
with ice cream and excuses.
You with questions, and
sleep in your eyes.
Silently nothing happens.
Lawns hiss, lamppost shines on
streets bereft of motion.
Come closer.
Dreadfully dead humidity
and well-weathered wicker
leaves an
impression on
bare legs.
Hush.
You stultify my banter, caution me not
to laugh so loud or I’ll wake up
the neighbours.
I tell you I don’t care
who hears us or
who sees us
through this heat.
The ice cream
is melting. 4:24,
you take
the spoon and the last mouthful
dribbles down
your chin.
Compulsion.
Not caring, or even daring, that neighbours
might find you on top of a shadow
naked
on the front lawn at 4:37.
Ice cream tub
discarded on the grass.
Liberated illumination.
Spoon still
in your
mouth, you are
radiant
and dripping
on me.
©2017 j.g. lewis
Poem Kubili is an international
companionship of poets with
a common love of writing and
reading poetry. To read more of
of the group’s collected works
visit poemkubili.com
